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Dataset card Data Studio Files
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Lord and Lady Fawley, who had been the first of Tom’s friends’ parents to swear an oath of alliance with Merope, offered a toast to her as soon as the main course was brought out. "To a happy and fruitful marriage for your ladyship!" the wizard proclaimed.
Merope smiled at that, feeling sadness inside at the likelihood that the severe internal injuries she had received during Tom’s birth had probably rendered her unable to conceive. She observed out of the corner of one eye that Tom’s visage tightened at this particular toast. Perhaps it was for the best, then, though she felt bad for Severus. If he did have a child, he could not prove it or claim his son. She felt bad that all she had to offer him was herself... but, she supposed, she apparently was enough for him. That was what mattered.
Merope, Severus, Tom, Hermione, and the guests feasted upon the excellent food for several hours as the daylight dimmed. The guests grew increasingly boisterous as they drank more and more, and by the time the first stars twinkled through the diamond-paned windows, they had lost most of their inhibitions.
Along with the rest of the family, Severus had moderated his own drinking, which left him feeling grouchy and surly at the behavior of their intoxicated guests. When Lord Flint rose from his seat, Severus thought he might draw his wand and strike down the oaf for what he said of his hostess.
"Ey, Snape, it’s dark out! Time for you to show her what a wizard can do," the lord jeered, raising a tankard of ale.
Severus turned to Merope, whose face was pale and whose lips were thinned in irritation. "They are not going to improve," he said in a low voice. "If we don’t leave now, this is going to get worse."
She gazed out at their guests, making note of the amount of drink that they still had, and nodded. "I have heard of beddings in which the bride and groom were physically hoisted into the bed by ribald guests. We don’t want that to happen here."
Extending her hand to him with dignity yet tenderness, she rose from her seat with him, holding hands. The guests applauded, several of them making catcalls and whistles as well. Next to Merope, Tom gripped his table knife as tightly as though it were a dagger. His face was hard and set.
"I thank all of you, my friends and allies, for attending our wedding today," Merope said. Several of them raised their tankards and goblets again in a wordless toast. "I look forward to a long and productive alliance with each and every one of you, and joyously anticipate your presence once again next summer to celebrate my son’s marriage to this wonderful young lady."
Hermione felt a deep, satisfied thrill of vindication at that. Everyone here knew already, of course, but Merope had just reaffirmed it very publicly. In light of the private conversation they had had that summer, it was clear to Hermione that this was meant as additional reassurance that Merope would protect her position. She stole a glance at Tom, whose face was expressionless. Well, at least he was not hostile. Hermione judged herself quite good now at detecting when Tom felt secret hostility to something but concealed the obvious signs.
Arms linked together, Merope and Severus left the banquet hall, ignoring the hoots and cheers from their guests. They flicked their wands, closing the heavy doors behind them, muffling the obnoxious noise.
"Do you suppose that Tom and Hermione will be all right?" he asked her seriously. It felt odd to use their given names, but now that he was family, he knew he had the right to.
"I have no doubt that they are both strong—and sober—enough to take charge and call an end to the feast at the proper time. I expect Tom will want to go to the library anyway," she added, thinking of the books that she had just opened up to him.
"Good," Severus growled as they ascended the massive stone stairs. "The less we have to think of such things tonight, the better." They reached the next floor and turned in the direction of the castle wing that held the family quarters.
Merope’s pulse quickened as she paced down the familiar corridor. She unlocked the door to her bedroom when she reached it and pushed the heavy door inward. Her bedchamber was outfitted now with some personal items of Severus’s; they did not intend to use separate bedrooms. Severus’s old room in the castle had been converted to a personal study for him.
Severus strode into the room confidently, his robes billowing in the air behind him. It was a very attractive look, Merope thought as she walked in and locked the door behind them. He had already cast a spell to light a fire in the bedroom fireplace, and with the aid of magic, it was roaring away, providing some pleasant warmth in the chill autumn air.
He adjusted the drapes to cover the window, then turned to her. "So," he said, his voice low and dark, "do you want me to "show you what a wizard can do’?"
Merope’s eyes flew wide open. "I thought that comment offended you!"
He crossed the room, drawing close to her. "From that loutish man, it is offensive. But is it offensive coming from me?"
Her heart thumped. "No. It’s not." She reached for him, feeling his firm, lean body under his silken robes.
He embraced her tightly and leaned in to kiss her. Although they had kissed during their engagement, this one felt different. It felt deeper—and that was not just because Severus was plundering her mouth with a passionate intensity that she would not have guessed he had in him. They were married now. She had a second chance at love—and this time, with this man, she knew it would last, because it was real.
They broke apart, breathing heavily as they stared at each other. He was not as traditionally handsome as Sir Thomas had been, she thought idly, but he had unconventional, curiously distinguished good looks—and he carried himself with a dignity and true confidence that her late first husband had always lacked and attempted to conceal with arrogant posturing. She realized that now.
Severus gazed at the woman before him with a new appreciation for her. He too was comparing her favorably to his old flame. Lily might have been passionate and exciting, but she was fickle. It was not a moral judgment; there was just no other way to describe someone who would end an engagement, have an intimate relationship with someone else in the space of a week, and then, when circumstances forced their separation, marry the person she had thrown off unceremoniously. She would not have made him happy. Merope was mature and steady, yet capable of passion too, he was quite certain—and he was about to obtain proof, he decided. Enough of other people in their bedroom. This was their wedding night.
Feeling a sudden surge of boldness, he wrapped his right arm around her waist and pulled her toward the bed. He fell onto the mattress first, pulling her down with him. She hitched her skirts up and sprawled across him, unintentionally pushing his shoulders into the pillow. A new, mischievous light gleamed in her eyes.
"You are overdressed, Severus," she said, her voice sultry in a way he had never heard before. It... excited him.
"Well, what do you intend to do about this, my lady?" he drawled.
Surprised at her own boldness, yet satisfied in the rightness of it—she was a fully grown woman, a witch, strong and confident—Merope reached for the neckline of his black outer robe. She slipped it off his lithe form, leaving a silver-grey one beneath. This one too was gone in short order.
"Now you are the one who is overdressed," he said.
She reached for the clasp holding her pretty olive-green wedding robes together at her neck. Undoing it, she opened the elaborately embroidered outer robe and was about to slip it off her arms when he reached up and did it himself.
She raised an eyebrow at him but did not attempt to stop him as he slipped off her underdress and chemise. It felt odd to be exposed to another person—odd and somewhat vulnerable—but it would be perfectly all right with him, she knew. She leaned over, sprawling over him once more, pressing her flesh against his as they shared another deep kiss.
"Severus," she moaned as he plundered her mouth once again. His hands, bony and expressive and masculine, found their way to her back.
"You have a beautiful body," he murmured, pulling away from the kiss.
She flushed; she knew that her facial features were average at best, so any praise of her appearance affected her more than it otherwise might have. "And you," she replied, running a hand down his chest, "you are handsome in a rugged sort of way."
He smirked. "I can tell that you think so."
Merope gazed at him, wide-eyed. His left leg was nestled between her legs. Could he feel—
He could. Of course he could. And it excited her even further that he would allude to her... present condition. She reddened, feeling the heat rush to her face, as she climbed off him and lay down on her back. A heavy, hot breath escaped her mouth.
"Come to me," she said, her voice strangely hoarse. He did not hesitate. In the very next moment, he propped himself up gently over her, his large hands caressing the sides of her face. A muted gasp escaped her throat, and they started to move together, not saying anything else coherent—at least in words. They did not have to.
In a few minutes, they were gasping, panting, as they found release together. The fire had done its job; in conjunction with their own mutual body heat, they were as warm and cozy as a pair of happy newlyweds could wish to be.
"Good night, my dear," she said, the words strange on her tongue—it had been so long since she had used a term of affection to apply to anyone in this particular context—but right and perfect nevertheless.
The next morning, the guests were slow to emerge from their alcohol-induced sleep, and several of them needed potions to combat the symptoms of heavy drinking. Merope and Severus also remained in their bedroom late, though for a very different and much more pleasant reason. The household and visitors were in such a state of disarray compared to their usual schedule that the house-elves brought breakfast to those who were able to eat it in their own bedchambers.
Tom was up early. He had gone to the library after his mother and Severus had—he grimaced at the thought—gone to bed, and the genealogical books that he had not yet read were piled in his room. He would bring them to Hogwarts tonight, when he and Hermione returned to the school. With any luck, one of them would hold enough clues about the Chamber of Slytherin that he could find it in the school, but even if that were not the case, he would finally get to read the history of his wizarding ancestors from the middle of the sixth century to the generation when Slytherin married into the family.
Tom remembered his promise to his mother regarding the Chamber, but he dismissed that. He had not promised her that he would not seek out the Chamber, nor that he would not open it if he did find it. He had just promised that he would not act on the knowledge contained in these books "in a destructive way."
Godric’s Hollow, two months later.
James Potter frowned at his old friend, who stood before him fidgeting and cringing. He gazed around, taking in the sinister canopy of trees in winter, denuded of their foliage, standing starkly against the grey sky.
"This bothers me, Peter," he said frankly. "It bothers me that you learned the Animagus transformation from us, but never told us—"
"I did! I told you! You and Sirius just didn’t seem interested," he pleaded.
"I have no memory of this."
"It was in the Hog’s Head Tavern in Hogsmeade during our last month at Hogwarts," Pettigrew explained.
"Oh, well, in that case, no wonder," Potter said. "Why would you tell us when we were drinking? You should have picked a better time, a time when we would actually make note of it and remember."
A flash of deep anger passed over Pettigrew’s face for a moment, but Potter did not see it. "It still bothers me," he continued. "After that, you spent all your time serving Morfin Gaunt. Of all people, Peter!"
"I ran away from him after he had my mother murdered," the short wizard said sullenly, glaring at his old friend.
"That’s what it took?" Potter exclaimed, his voice brimming with self-righteous disapproval.
"You have never tried to escape a tyrant lord, and Snape was always there to do his bidding and put up wards and magical obstacles," he lied.
Potter scoffed. "Are you a Gryffindor or not, Peter? You could have escaped earlier, and probably even saved your mother as well, if you had just tried harder."
Pettigrew wanted in that moment to curse his old Hogwarts friend.
"And then his sister took over, and Snivellus decided that the way to get the kind of prestige he’d never gotten from the Snake Lord was to get up the skirts of the Snake Lady. And now you serve them! You must see why this bothers me, Peter, and I can’t understand why you would be unable to tell me whatever this is in my home."
Pettigrew glanced down quickly, then back up at his friend’s face. "It’s because what I have to tell you relates to your wife."
Potter scowled. "I already know that Lily is headstrong and willful."
"You don’t know the extent of it, though." Pettigrew lowered his voice and began to explain to Potter what he knew of Severus’s affair sixteen years ago with Lily. As he did, he noted with interest and satisfaction that Potter’s brown eyes grew wider by the second. A pink flush suffused Potter’s face, a flush of anger and betrayal.
"And so," Pettigrew concluded with a flourish, "this could explain your dissatisfaction with young Harry."
Potter’s nostrils flared. "You go too far with that implication, Peter. The boy is soft because of the influence of his mother and probably Sirius... and that girl at Hogwarts that he used to fancy. Your liege lady’s daughter-in-law," he said.
"They are not married yet, James."
Potter dismissed that with a scoff. "They will be. My point is, other influences could account for why Harry is soft. His Hogwarts sweetheart, the Lovegood girl, is also a factor. She visited us during the summer. I would prefer the Weasley girl for him, though this is certainly better than the absurd fantasy that he had in the first months of his first year... but she does not exactly cultivate any manly characteristics in him. They apparently spent the summer reading and exploring the woods outside the village."
"He is also a Slytherin, though. That happened before he even met her."
Potter considered that. "A good point. However, it occasionally happens that a child is Sorted into a different house to the rest of his family. It happened with Sirius." He gazed at Pettigrew. "I am glad you told me, though, and I will certainly have some words with my wife over this betrayal." The threat in his voice was unmistakable.
A flurry of owls, each one of a different color of grey or brown, descended on Harry Potter’s place setting at the breakfast table.
"You know," remarked Draco Malfoy loudly, observing the activity jealously, "this custom of having birds deliver our messages while we eat is really quite disgusting." He glared at Harry, who was ignoring Draco’s remarks, and raised his voice so that everyone at the Slytherin table would hear. "They could let mice entrails fall into our bowls—or their own droppings! And any lice or mites that they carry on their feathers would drop into our food when they flap their wings."
"Ewww," opined one of Adelaide Lestrange’s hangers-on. Adelaide herself shot Draco a look of disgust but did not comment.
"I really should suggest a ban on the practice... at Hogwarts, at least," Draco said arrogantly. "I suppose if peasants want to allow it in their own homes, it matters little, as filthy as they live anyway. But Hogwarts is a castle, and wizards and witches with noble blood study here."
Harry was completely ignoring Draco’s comments, Hermione observed. As he read one letter after another, his face grew more and more distraught. Even Tom, who was seated several places away, was far more interested in Harry’s letters than Draco’s juvenile remarks, but Harry was keeping the content to himself and folding them up as soon as he was finished reading them.
After the meal was over and the young people began to disperse throughout the Great Hall, Hermione—and Luna, who was seated at the next table over and had observed the proceedings with growing concern for him—cornered him in a private alcove in the corridors. Hermione had a terrible feeling that she knew exactly what kind of news the letters had contained. Peter Pettigrew had been a friend of Harry’s father, after all, and perhaps he had felt obliged to tell his old friend what he knew. Harry looked physically ill, his face pale and his features twitchy with what Hermione took to be a mix of conflicting emotions: anger, betrayal, shock, and sadness, certainly.
"What is the matter?" Luna said in her gentle voice. "Is everything all right at home?"
Harry took a deep, shuddering breath. "No, it’s not. It’s definitely not." He paused, his eyelids closing over his green eyes for a moment. Luna touched his arm gently, giving him the strength to continue. "Peter Pettigrew—an old friend of my father who now serves Lady Riddle—had information about...." He breathed again. "About something that happened before my parents were married. A month before. They... were apart briefly, due to an argument, and evidently my mother had a brief romance with...." He gazed apologetically at Hermione. "With Severus Snape."
Hermione was not about to tell him that she already knew. The last thing he needed was to feel betrayed by a friend who had kept such a secret from him. She arranged her facial features into a convincing look of surprise.
"When my father learned about this from Pettigrew, he confronted my mother and ordered her out of the house when she admitted it."
Luna gasped. "But this happened before they were married!" she exclaimed. "And their engagement was temporarily broken, too."
Hermione was not surprised. In the Muggle world, it was completely accepted for a groom to call off a marriage, or have it annulled, if his new bride had never been married before but was found to have slept with someone other than himself. The attitude was also present in the wizarding nobility.... Hermione pushed that thought out of her head, not wanting to think about her own situation. Lady Merope had promised her that she would not let Tom break their contract if Hermione herself did not want that, so there was no danger of her being sent to a Muggle stranger who would object to her non-virginal state. In any case, the only aspect of this news that was a bit unusual to Hermione was that a pureblood wizard without a title would do it. Perhaps Muggle views and values were fairly widespread in some parts of the magical population.
"It didn’t matter to my father," Harry said miserably. "Mother wrote to me, too, saying that she had taken shelter with her Muggle sister’s family and was perfectly safe—and had enough coin to provide for herself "until a certain future date.’"
"What does that mean?" Hermione asked.
"I think it must refer to the content of Sirius’s letter," Harry said. He met Hermione’s eyes and then gazed at Luna. "He is going to get married soon, and I think my mother intends to move in with them afterward. She likes Marlene McKinnon. Valant," he added, remembering the widow’s married name.
Luna burst into a smile.
"This news gave him the kick to finally propose," Harry said. "He hasn’t told my father yet, and asked me not to—he’s going to surprise him on the day of their wedding, apparently, and move in with her once there is nothing my father can do to stop it."
"Stop it?" Hermione repeated. "No offense, Harry, but what does he think your father could do to stop it? He has no authority over another adult wizard."
"He does not say, but my father...." Harry trailed off. "My father has always been the leader and decision-maker in the household. Sirius has gone along with that until now." He sighed deeply once more and ran his hand through his messy hair. "Then there is... Remus Lupin," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper.
Luna instantly knew who this was. Hermione tried to remember everything that Luna had included in her letter the previous summer. "Is that the werewolf?" she asked.
Harry nodded. "He hasn’t sent me a letter yet, but Sirius thinks that he is privately on my mother’s side—and his—rather than my father’s. According to Sirius, he doesn’t trust Pettigrew’s motives."
"I don’t blame him," Hermione muttered.
Harry gave her a curious look. "You don’t like Pettigrew?"
"Pettigrew showed up at Parselhall and immediately tried to curry favor with Lady Riddle," Hermione said. "He tried to divide her from Lord Severus. As you know, that did not work, so I suppose he must have decided to try to ingratiate himself with someone else."
Harry considered that. "That’s interesting. He may have been in hiding for so long that he thinks he needs to tear down other people to establish himself. He succeeded with my father," he said bitterly. His eyes reddened. "Luna—Hermione—I support my mother too, and I think my father is wrong, but he’s still my father. These are my parents, and they...." He broke off.
Luna moved closer to him. "I know," she said. "It is terrible. My mother died, but she and my father never fought... and he always treated her respectfully. She died young... but our parents will die before we do if our lives progress as they ought, so in a way, it is worse when one parent turns on the other like yours. I’m so sorry."
Hermione could not but agree. She recalled Tom’s action during the summer. Harry would not ever consider a similar deed, but Tom had never known his father, and it had certainly offended and upset him greatly that his father had betrayed his mother—and him. A parental betrayal was worse for the children.
Tom did not expect a letter of his own that day. Nothing had arrived during breakfast, and it was unusual for owls to come late. Magically bred owls knew to do their job early in the morning unless it was an emergency. When the Riddle family owl soared into the Great Hall during lunch and landed at Tom’s place setting, he was surprised and alarmed about what bad news it might bring. He untied the scroll from its leg and opened it.
I have important news for you, which I expect you to share with Lady Hermione at the earliest convenience. I learned it just this morning, and I confess that the news is as much a shock to Lord Severus and me as it undoubtedly will be to you.
Tom suddenly knew what he was to read before he did. A towering, volcanic, infernal rage developed in the pit of his stomach as he read on.
I will not belabor making the admission or obfuscate about it. I have found that I am a month with child—in fact, with twins. I realize fully the implications of this for you under current wizarding law. However, Lord Severus and I agree that we will not let unjust policy affect our family decisions. The children will be born, if all goes well naturally. However, they will be Severus’s heirs, and will be in the line of inheritance for Parselhall and Hangleton after you and your heirs. I promise you this as a witch to a wizard.
Needless to say, I am unwilling to commit any more details on that subject to writing. We will have a serious discussion as a family this Christmas.
Your affectionate mother.
Tom read the note from his mother over and over again. With each perusal, his anger grew—and an additional emotion, fear, quickly took shape as well.
She promises me that I won’t lose my right of inheritance, but how often do people make promises that they cannot keep because other people interfere? Tom thought. I’m sure that this is what she intends, but she has never wanted to fight Malfoy or Lestrange. The situation has deteriorated rapidly over the past year, with two members of the Wizards’ Council murdered, the Council itself dissolved, and appalling new laws in effect. She seems to think that she can defeat Malfoy without violence... or that she can just wait for him to die and let someone else depose Lestrange once Malfoy is dead. It won’t happen. Lucius Malfoy would succeed him, and I have no reason to believe he would be better for us. Besides, there is the unicorn blood I’m almost certain that he drinks—and I wish Regulus Black could confirm that—as well as the question of whether he has secured immortality. Despite Mother’s best intentions, if a Norman lord is still ruling wizarding Britain, one of these brats will be her heir, not me.